


The Monsters of Anor Londo

by Keter



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Blow Jobs, Cannibalism, Consensual Violence, Gore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 14:20:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8985310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keter/pseuds/Keter
Summary: What makes a man a monster? What makes him disgusting? What boundaries does he have to cross?





	

Ornstein was… afraid. No, maybe _anxious_ was a better word. Or-- ‘direly aware of his circumstances?’ At the very least, he was warily staring down his partner Smough, who was now returning the gaze steadily.

One might’ve thought that Smough would be a little less intimidating with his armor returned to its case and his hammer sitting in the armory, but Ornstein knew better. The Executioner was just as imposing in lighter clothing, and it wasn’t just his towering height or even his extremely well-built figure earned from carrying immense amounts of weight in battle and around Anor Londo. It was, more than anything, his _eyes_. Luckier enemies didn’t get to see those eyes in battle, but Ornstein knew what lay underneath that helmet every time an invader made it to their hall.

It was hunger. It was a hunger that trespassed, frankly, outside the boundaries of what was good and right in the world. It was a hunger that saw more than a fight in an enemy; it saw through them to the flesh and to the bone and to the blood, and saw that it _wanted_. It was a hunger for forbidden flavors, and a hunger that had forbidden him from being welcomed into the Knights of Gwyn despite his immense strength and talent.

It was a hunger that would not be stopped, and yet it had never really bothered Ornstein enough for him to request that he not be partnered with the executioner. At the beginning, the dragonslayer had developed a morbid curiosity when it came to Smough’s practices, and though he never thought to partake in the other’s grotesque meals, he would sometimes catch himself watching Smough kneeling over a fallen intruder and picking at the corpse without feeling as disgusted as his conscience reminded him he should feel. Certainly he would never admit to the other Knights that as time had passed, he had grown even more interested in Smough’s behavior -- but not enough to indulge in it himself, never -- his interest increasing with the passing days spent in his partner’s company. He eventually grew so close to the executioner that their partnership developed into more than one dimension of the word, and Smough's nature became a familiar and harmless joke between the two of them. Ornstein grew ever assured that he had nothing to fear from the cruel and headstrong Smough, and so he had begun to forget the severity of the fact that the one cooking meals for himself every night was making them from human flesh.

No, Ornstein had never really been bothered by Smough, until -- until tonight, and by complete chance. Complete accident. It had been a complete _accident_ that Ornstein had caught those eyes peering at him with the same awful hunger that he had believed was reserved for their adversaries.

He had to do a double-take when he saw it, but by the time he looked back again, Smough's attention was elsewhere. Ornstein was... he was _sure_ of what he'd seen, though, and dread began to boil up in his stomach. The sense of security he'd developed was shattered immediately by this single detail, and the final nail was driven in when, as Ornstein stared at the other knight with something close to incredulousness, the hungry stare finally turned itself back towards him, unwavering this time.

Now, here they were, standing across from each other in the kitchen and locked in some sort of staring contest that was surely the only thing keeping some unmentionably dreadful thing from happening.

Smough broke the silence first, of course. Though he obviously had not meant to be caught, he was not the type to leave the issue in silence now that it had become quite obvious between them. "You know, don't you?"

Ornstein swallowed the ball of fear in his throat and managed a slow nod, already internally constructing dozens of possible plans on how to either escape or potentially take down the goliath. Ornstein was fast. He might not have his spear, but he could run, and Smough was slow. There had to be a way.

Smough caught the dragonslayer's eyes flickering around looking for escape routes, and a low chuckle shook his chest. His own eyes... were they perhaps even more excited now? "Won't you hear me out, Captain?" he asked, taking a step closer.

Ornstein immediately jumped a couple feet back in response, his stance wide and defensive. He finally found himself able to speak, though the first syllables came out cracked. "I do not see this conversation going anywhere terribly productive," he answered, his shoulders raised like hackles. "Do you?"

"If you'd give listenin' a chance." The executioner moved forward again, quickly this time, and Ornstein did not even have a moment to reflect on the fact that Smough was eerily fast without his immense armor on before, in his panicked reflex to leap backwards to avoid the larger knight, he felt his palms and back hit a wall, and dread washed over him anew.

Smough had cornered him. This had probably been part of his plan from the start. Ornstein looked up at the glimmering eyes of his partner and bared his teeth in a snarl, his body language more spiking than ever as he realized that Smough's arms were resting on the wall on either side of him to block him from leaving. "I don't think I want to hear what you have to say!"

"That's too bad," Smough replied. His eyes left Ornstein's to wander down the right side of his face and neck, where lightning scars streaked upwards in violent red lines. Ornstein noticed this and felt vaguely ill. How many times had Smough's rough lips graced those scars, and how many times had Ornstein let him close enough to explore where the rest of them went? Every time began to feel like a grave mistake.

His fists were curling like claws. "It isn't a wise idea to cross a Knight of Gwyn, Smough." His fear was turning into a burning anger now. He was **_not_ ** going to be toyed around with like a small animal. He was either going to go out fighting, or he was going to have Smough's head mounted on the wall with the other beasts.

"That isn't my intention." There were those dark, hungry eyes again.

"Then what _is_?" Ornstein hissed. "Don't play with me."

Smough smiled and leaned in closer, his breath shifting a few strands of Ornstein's hair as he spoke into the latter's ear in the same soft voice that had kept him company so many nights. "Aren't you ever curious?"

Ornstein's snarl twitched, his grimace widening as he felt Smough's warm breath on his skin. It had no right to, even in this moment, send a small shudder down his spine. "About what?"

"Don't fault me for it," Smough began, and Ornstein could still hear him smiling-- "But you just look so good. I've been curious. For a long time."

"And here I thought I was an _exception_. A silly mistake all along." Mmh... There had to be a way out of this. A way out of Smough's arms and the way his low voice got to him as always. Ornstein was sure he could duck under Smough's arms and make a break for it -- sooner rather than later would be best -- but for some reason he couldn't quite bring himself to leave so immediately anymore. Damn it all. He shouldn't have given Smough enough time to trap him like this.

"No, Ornstein, you are. You are. Don't you trust me?"

" _What?!_ " Ornstein barked out suddenly, more out of surprise than anger. "Trust you? After this?! _How_?" He stared, teeth gritted and eyes wide, at Smough, who had drawn back a bit in surprise as well to look at him. Ha! What right did the _executioner_ have to act so _surprised_ ?! He didn't deserve that privilege! He hadn't _earned_ it from his partner _turning_ on him!

"Oh, Ornstein. Don't you realize? I still love you."

Smough's concerned expression just fueled the renewed anger in the dragonslayer, and he shoved at the other's chest. It wouldn't have been enough to push the goliath back, but Smough took a step back anyway, giving Ornstein space to fume. "You damned _liar_ . You just want my skin in your gut, you-- disgusting _monster_."

Smough offered a sheepish smile. "Only a little bit. Just to try it."

The agitating wrongness and absurdity of the entire situation was too much. Here Ornstein felt as if every hair on his body was on end, and Smough didn't appear bothered or guilty at all about the whole ordeal. The captain felt as if he was truly beginning to realize why Smough's efforts to join Gwyn's Knights were always rejected. He couldn't even find words anymore, and just stood there vibrating angrily.

After a few moments of silence, Smough moved forward a bit again, placing his hands gently but firmly on Ornstein's upper arms, gripping the tense muscles there. When he spoke, his voice was as firm as his grip. "Relax. You were right. I wouldn't hurt you. But." His tongue licked across his teeth, his smile crooked. "Just a little bite. We have Estus. I've thought of everythin'. It would work."

Ornstein was breathing heavily, his lungs shuddering with adrenaline as he looked up at Smough's wide, familiar face. Technically, Smough was right. It would be... 'fine.' There wouldn't be any lasting injuries. But! _But_!! This was disgusting to even _think_ about. To even _consider_. What kind of awful agreement would it be to allow this... this _beast_ to partake in his own flesh? Surely it would be some kind of sin...? He growled at himself. He was _considering_ it! Right this moment!! What a bastard he was! What a bastard he was for, for even _entertaining_ the thought of Smough's teeth grazing his skin, sinking into his flesh slowly, taking his blood into his mouth and tearing away pieces of him away to consume -- just like he'd done to all those others, and -- NO. No??

And how dare that bastard Smough start grinning at him, now of all times.

"What're you pantin' for, Captain? Have I -- _bothered_ you?"

"No!" Ornstein shouted, a bit too loudly. He clenched his fists and dropped his eyes away from Smough's.

"You're so red." He was getting closer again, his voice dropping. "What's gotten you so worked up?"

Ornstein hissed wordlessly at Smough's chest, which was actually at eye level to him. Then he shook his head and glared at it with more determined anger for a moment before avoiding Smough's question by asking another. "If-- If you-- got your _disgusting_ way-- where would you---- do it?"

"Oh!" Smough brightened at this response and rubbed Ornstein's arms. "Your leg, probably. Good meat there."

"Don't respond all.. _happy_ like that, I'm not saying you can do _anything!_ " Ornstein snapped. Could he admit to himself that he was feeling anything other than outrage right now? He certainly wasn't struggling out of Smough's arms, physically or otherwise. But whether or not he'd let himself admit that was something else entirely.

"Just if I could, huh?" Smough dipped his head to press his forehead against Ornstein's, looking down at his avoidant expression. "Well. I'm at your mercy, Captain."

Ornstein ground his teeth and glanced up briefly at the executioner, immediately regretting it and looking away. What a dumb, stupid expression he had on. All smiling and, eager, and relaxed. It was so unfair. He was silent for a long time, just listening to Smough breathe and hating himself for the words he was about to say. "...Where. Is the Estus."

"I _knew_ you'd come through!" Smough shouted in delight, grabbing Ornstein's face and kissing him full on the lips despite the golden knight's muffled cry of outrage. He then let him go and skipped off to retrieve the Estus with an unbelievable pep in his step, and Ornstein was left to stand lip-high in regret.

What... had he just _sort-of_ agreed to? This was madness, this-- he couldn't tell any of the other Knights. He couldn't tell Gwyn. He couldn't let anyone else know that this had ever happened. He'd be _disgraced_. Probably let out of the Knights. He held his head, still trying to process everything. This was all so wrong, and he had no time to figure out a way to make it seem right before Smough returned and swept him off his feet, earning a small yelp. "--Watch it!" Eager. Smough was too eager for this. Disgusting.

"You're in good hands," Smough laughed, bringing him to the living room, where he sat on the hardwood floor and set Ornstein down in front of him and an Estus flask to the side. "Wait here. I'll get somethin' for you to sit on."

Ornstein couldn't help but sit and continue his charade of indecision and self-deprecation as he watched Smough gather a couple blankets and pillow, which were brought to him and placed beneath him and around him. Once blanketed, he sat and stared with all the repulsion he could muster at Smough, who was as unbothered as ever and perhaps even happier than Ornstein had ever seen him.

Smough's large, self-scarred hand hovered over one of Ornstein's legs now, reaching towards the leather pants there. "Hey, this would be easier if you took these off."

Ornstein batted his hand away, shoulders raised again. "I can do it myself. You godless _monster_ ." And yet, as Smough laughed at the insult, he found himself hesitating. Come on, Ornstein, you've done this in front of him countless times. It's nothing new. _Yeah, nothing except the fact that a part of his leg was doomed to be ingested as soon as he did_.

And yet. And yet. His fingers found his belt and undid it, pushing the waist of his pants down and then pulling them off and placing them into a crumpled pile at his side. He kept glaring at Smough as and after he did this, trying to hold on to some sort of imagined dominance.

Smough only continued to smile. "Thanks." He unceremoniously picked Ornstein's right leg up and lifted it as he scooted closer, his hands massaging the scarred tissue in the way he knew Ornstein loved and could tell that he liked, even through the glare, by the slight softening of the captain's brow. He looked at the muscle on Ornstein's leg with something close to adoration as he thumbed at the sculpted tissue beneath the skin, cradling the leg closer. Finally, finally. After all this time. He would get to know. His curiosity would be satisfied. All because his Captain was kind enough to indulge him.

He placed his teeth on Ornstein's skin, ready to take a bite, but was interrupted by a yell from the other.

"Wait!!" Ornstein froze abruptly after shouting, his eyes locked on the sight of Smough's teeth placed upon him, and a shiver of fear more intense than any felt during this encounter ran through his entire body. A breath shuddered out of him, but-- none of these things... felt entirely bad? It was... God, forgive him... exhilarating? Was that shiver of fear-- was it-- excitement? At least in part? And what did that make _him_ , for feeling this way about something so -- so _unnatural_?

He caught sight of Smough's expression, which appeared to be dripping with either consternation or frustration with these apparent second thoughts, and dipped his head down, avoiding the sight. "No, just. Just do it. I." He stopped himself from saying those awful words. _I think I want this. I think. I want this_. "Just do it."

Smough shrugged and bit down.

God. God. It was excruciating.

Ornstein clapped his hands over the pained howl that came out of his mouth as his head jerked back, and through eyes that were beginning to water he looked down at Smough's face. It was pushed into the meat of his leg, blood already dripping from around his lips and the corners of his mouth. Had he already bitten so deep?? Oh, God, the pain. Well, that would explain it at least.

He felt himself gasping for air as he felt Smough continue to bite down, his jaws nearing closer and closer to each other with every passing moment. A monster. He was a real monster. --Who was? It was suddenly getting very dark, and he didn't get a word out about that fact before things went entirely black.

He woke up with Smough leaning over him, shouting something indistinct with blood smeared all over his face. Ornstein blinked, confused, as he felt some of the warm blood splatter onto his own face. His head hurt dully -- had he hit it? --And then the rest of the pain hit, and his face contorted into a mask of agony. He remembered everything. "Damnit, Smough-- did you finish?!" He tried leaning up again to see, and immediately regretted it. Not only was sitting up awful and painful, but it meant that he had to catch a glimpse of his partially detached leg meat pooling blood everywhere.

"No. Sorry. I got worried when you passed out, so I came to check right away. I'll get back to it now, though."

Ornstein groaned loudly at the ceiling and then, when he felt Smough's teeth sink back into his leg without warning, shrieked through his own clenched teeth and braced himself again a bit too late. This time, he was able to hear a snap of jaws and feel a tearing, sudden absence of weight from his own body. He moaned in pain, a whimper hiding behind each shaking breath, and watched Smough through lidded eyes. The executioner seemed to be chewing the meat with great thought, lost in his own head as he savored the raw piece. Ornstein felt -- well he felt _something_ watching that happen, but Hell if he'd try to place the feeling. He gripped the blanket around his shoulders for strength, trying not to watch blood pour out of his untreated wound. The Estus was so close. Not quite within reach. He wanted so badly to have it. But. Smough was.

Mesmerizing.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Smough swallow, knowing that that lump traveling down his throat was his own flesh and blood. A broken exhale left his lips as he watched Smough then turn to him and smile like every prayer he'd ever made had just been answered. Ornstein was breathless. What kind of man was this...?

"You're so delicious, Ornstein," Smough rumbled, turning to loom over him again, close enough that Ornstein could see the individual flecks of blood beginning to crust on his face. "I never tasted anythin' so good." He was breathing heavily too, his breath metallic and sour on Ornstein's face.

A tear finally broke away from the water pooled in Ornstein's eyes and streaked down his face, dragging itself through a small splatter of blood. He was looking up at Smough in awe, and with heat beginning to spike down his body. He could hardly think about what was right or wrong anymore. Smough was looking at him so happily and with such adoration that it jumbled away every other thought.

"I love you, Captain," Smough said, filling in the silence and the space between them with himself as he leaned to kiss away the tear on Ornstein's cheek. "I can get you that Estus now. If you want."

Ornstein shook in his shirt, vaguely faint from blood loss. He. He should really drink the Estus. God knows he'd be in a bit of a predicament without it. But. He. He wanted. Smough.

 _To_...?

To -- Oh, it was unspeakable. Something that Ornstein would never have forgiven himself for, were he in his right mind. But he wasn't quite there -- Smough was, instead. He leaned and tilted his head to catch Smough's lips in his own, not caring about the heavy taste of iron that immediately filled his mouth right along with Smough's tongue. He didn't care that that was his own blood. No-- that blood was Smough's now. So was the blood that coated the hand that cupped his face, and the blood on the hand that rubbed his bare thigh. He wanted to melt into the executioner and let him take away the distant pangs of pain, and -- and -- anything else he wanted to take. Ha. Haha.

He really did still trust him after all. How terrible.

One of his hands went to the hand that was rubbing his leg and took it, guiding it upwards. He heard Smough laugh when he felt what was there -- he laughed too, breathily, against Smough's teeth, but pushed his hips insistently into the other's hand.

"What about the Estus? My hands, you probably want me to wash them. Right?"

Ornstein shook his head slowly and chewed on Smough's scarred lip, keeping him from pulling away or going anywhere at all. "No, no," came the breathy answer. He didn't want Smough to go anywhere. He wanted... this. All of this. The way the pain twisted everything, the wet blood emptying from him and covering them both, the fuzziness of his vision and-- and Smough's wonderful smile. How could something so beautiful come from anything so awful? No, it-- it couldn't. _Perhaps_ , he reasoned with himself, _this practice was not so disgusting as had been imagined_.

A pleased sigh escaped him as Smough followed his word without complaint or concern, and he trembled against his partner as he felt himself continue to be embraced by Smough's hands and tongue. It was all such a cleansing delight. He felt all his regrets and pain leaking out of the hole in his leg. It felt so large... Smough had really taken a chunk out of him. He found himself taking great pleasure in that idea, and moaned into Smough's mouth as his body shivered in delightful reaction.

Smough, however, pulled back, and Ornstein cried out in dismay as the executioner's grasp on him loosened. "Where are you--?"

Smough put a finger to his mouth, silencing him, and then scooted back on his knees and bent over to--!

Ornstein whimpered and clung to the executioner's back as he felt the other's mouth upon him, warm and raw and, and blowing his dizzy mind. His hands clutched at his partner's shirt, digging weakly into his skin as pleasure shook itself up and down his spine and radiated outwards through his body. God, God. He panted against Smough's back and let his eyelids flutter closed, awash in a sea of deliciously conflicting sensations. The rational part of him knew that this was unhealthy at best and best left unrepeated, but all he could think about was wanting ever more of it, consequences be damned in the heat of the moment. Smough's mouth -- biting, nibbling, pulling, sucking and tasting whatever it pleased -- was all he wanted.

He came into Smough's mouth with a flurry of syllables that might have been interpreted as the executioner's name tumbling over and over from between his lips, his hands scrambling with renewed energy for purchase on the other's back, and when he was finished it was all he could do to cling to Smough's wide frame for dear, panting life.

He could hear and feel Smough laughing again, his head pulling back from between Ornstein's legs and his body readjusting so that he held the knight up in his arms.

"That was good too, Captain," he chuckled, his fingers running through Ornstein's light hair as he rubbed the side of his cheek and jaw against Ornstein's head. He was all too amused by how out of breath and overwhelmed Ornstein had become, but it made him all the more of a delicious treasure. The man was a terror in battle but here, in his arms -- he was reduced to nothing. It was so empowering. Smough might not have been a real Knight of Gwyn, but he could conquer and overpower one all the same.

"I'm glad you -- enjoyed yourself," Ornstein managed, clinging to Smough as the latter adjusted to pick up the Estus flask sitting patiently nearby. He then let the executioner cradle him in one arm and proffer the flask to his lips, sipping the honeyed liquid down at Smough's insistence. It had never tasted so good.

Immediately, his leg began to go numb and his head began to clear as the strengthening liquid coursed through him. In the matter of a minute in Smough's arms, he was pretty much entirely recovered, but an afterglow remained as a warm and fuzzy filter around his brain and coating his skin. He looked up at Smough, who was still rough with blood and sweat, and flexed his stomach briefly to plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth before curling against his chest.

"There's a lot of blood on the floor, still," Smough remarked as he hugged Ornstein closer and looked around at the mess they'd made. The poor blankets and pillow had not been spared.

"It's alright," Ornstein mumbled into Smough's shirt, one of his hands sneaking into it to rub against the warm skin and lines of muscle inside.

"Hmm." Smough licked his lips as he felt Ornstein's hands roam his body. "You don't seem very tired."

"I have a little blood left in me still," Ornstein joked, his thumb pushing firmly over a nipple and earning a content sound.

"Oh, good," Smough growled, dragging his nails across Ornstein skin hungrily. "Because I'm not done yet."

Ornstein laughed weakly. Ah. After all this time, he was only now realizing what he had really gotten into with Smough. But he was learning that he didn't really have many complaints about it, after all. Ah... perhaps he himself was just as disgusting as the one whose armor did not hide his monstrosity. He could... he could probably live with that. They could keep this between themselves.

The monsters, with masks of men, of Anor Londo.


End file.
